Title: As Much As I Want You
Prompt: # 147: Draco makes a private artwork of Harry to look at and enjoy. The last thing he expected was for Harry to discover it.
Summary: Draco creates a unique way to enjoy his fantasies of raping Harry Potter. When Harry finds out, he’s shocked – and aroused by what he sees.
Warnings: Explicit fantasies of non-con, bondage, and BDSM. This story is somewhat dark, although the ending is hopeful.
Word Count: 6,495
Author's Notes: Dear lomonaaeren, I’ve read and enjoyed every single story you’ve ever written. It’s such an honour to be able to claim your prompt. As soon as I saw it, I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I know this isn’t a gift exchange, but I wrote it with you in mind. I hope you enjoy it.
Many thanks to the wonderful joanwilder for SpaG, sestra_prior for Britpick and naming the Aurors and Wizengamot members for me, and winoniel for additional SpaG and suggestions on rewording awkward-sounding phrases.
Dennis Creevey had been the one to give him the idea.
Creevey had his own freelance photography business and was a frequent visitor to Draco Malfoy’s small but successful potions shop. Draco specialized in potions which were difficult to make, not only because they were more lucrative, but also because he liked the challenge of brewing them. One of those potions was the solution used to develop moving photos.
“Have you seen Harry Potter’s picture in the Auror calendar?” Creevey asked.
Draco was in the process of dispensing the developing potion into individual vials from the large cauldron he’d used to brew it in earlier that day. Creevey was leaning against the counter top, making idle conversation as he watched Draco work.
“Yes, of course. Who hasn’t? We had a stack of them for sale last week and they sold out in an hour. I wish my potions sold that fast.”
Witch Weekly had produced a calendar with photos of twelve different Aurors, six males and six females. Creevey had been the photographer. The photos were in good taste, but showed the Aurors in various stages of undress. All proceeds from the sale of the calendars went to twelve different charities, one chosen by each Auror.
But what made the calendar such a huge hit was the photo of Harry Potter. It was in the center of the calendar, so was twice the size of the photos of the other Aurors. He was also completely naked, shown holding a broom which was strategically placed to cover his private parts.
“They’re on the fourth printing and still selling out. Too bad you don’t have a potion that you could spray on the page to make Harry move that broom out of the way. You know that’s what everyone’s thinking about when they look at that photo.”
That innocuous comment had started Draco on his personal project. It hadn’t turned out exactly the way Creevey had described. Draco hadn’t come up with a potion to spray on an existing picture. What he had was something better. It involved magic that some would consider to be on the edge of dark, so it wasn’t something he could bottle and sell. It didn’t matter – it was enough that he was able to enjoy the results in the privacy of his own bedroom.
“Mr. Malfoy. Auror Potter is here to do his inspection.”
“Thank you, Sandy. Send him in. I have another ten minutes of brewing and I can’t leave this one unattended.”
Draco was in the potions lab, located on the ground floor at the back of his potion shop. He had an assistant, Sandy Wills, who came in three times a week to take care of walk-in customers so that he could brew uninterrupted. He was subjected to unannounced monthly inspections, though, because of his sale and use of restricted ingredients. At least that was the official reason. Draco suspected it had more to do with his being a former Death Eater than with restricted ingredients, but there was nothing that he could do about it. Potter held the power to shut Draco down, and Draco resented him for it. Any Auror could go over the records and inspect the inventory, yet Potter always did it himself, just to rub it in Draco’s face and humiliate him.
Draco continued to focus on the potion in the cauldron, not looking up when Potter walked in.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy. Your assistant has already shown me your paperwork. I just need to look through the lab, check that any restricted ingredients are accounted for and secure.”
Draco still did not look up, continuing to stir the potion with his right hand. His left hand lifted with a small waving motion towards Potter, as if swatting at an irritating fly. “I know the drill by now. The only way you’ll find me in violation of any laws is if you plant the evidence yourself. Just get on with it and get out.”
Silence a moment, then a heavy sigh. Draco heard Potter’s footsteps as he walked over to the wall where ingredients were stored on floor-to-ceiling shelves.
After a few minutes, Draco chanced a sideways glance. Potter was reaching overhead, causing his shirt to hitch up and expose a dusting of dark hair on a patch of pale pink skin. Draco couldn’t turn his eyes away, his mouth watering at the thought of where that trail of dark hair led.
He turned his attention back to his potion. He stopped stirring and turned the heat down. It needed to simmer for twenty minutes, cool for thirty, and then he could transfer it to smaller bottles for storage and sale. While he waited, he leaned against the table, crossed his arms and stared at Potter’s back as he worked.
Oh, how he wished he could grab Potter by the scruff of the neck, bend him over the worktable and fuck him until he begged for mercy – which of course Draco wouldn’t show. Raping Potter in a deserted classroom had always been one of his favorite fantasies when they’d been at Hogwarts. If he could work out a way to do it now, without getting caught…no, best not to go down that road.
Potter must have felt him staring because he said, “I won’t be much longer. Just a few more containers to check.” He picked up a jar, tested the lid – it was secure, of course – set it back. Picked up another jar, tested it, put it back. Finally, he turned around and held out a slip of paper.
“There you go. Certified and approved for another month.”
Draco took the paper without saying a word, staring Potter down. Potter’s cheeks began to flush, but he held Draco’s gaze.
“Malfoy, I’m sorry about having to continue to do this. Your business has been clean on every inspection –”
“Stop with the false sympathy, Potter. I know what you and everyone else thinks about me – once an evil Death Eater, always an evil Death Eater. Now, unless there’s anything else – get out.”
Draco thought for a moment he saw a look of hurt flash across Potter’s face, but then it was gone.
Potter sighed. “I’m not supposed to tell you, but – someone’s sending anonymous complaints, accusing you of practicing dark magic and brewing illegal potions. I’ve assured Minister Shacklebolt that my inspections have been thorough and that there is no evidence whatsoever of any wrongdoing. He believes me, but this last time, a complaint was sent by owl to Melissa Jennings, a junior member of the Wizengamot. She knows me, so took my word for it that the complaints are simply a mean-spirited attack against you because of your name. But it’s only a matter of time before one of the members on the Wizengamot believes it and requires us to investigate.”
Then Potter turned and walked out of the lab.
Draco sat on his bed, leaning against the headboard, trying to clear his mind of troubling thoughts. He wasn’t going to be distracted by Potter’s words when he had Potter’s arse to think about instead. He always had the best fantasies on inspection day.
He reached over to the bed side table and picked up the photo album. Placing it on his lap, he opened it to a blank page. He took a vial of photo developing potion from the drawer of the table and uncorked it, holding it in his left hand. In his right, he held his wand.
He closed his eyes, taking deep, long breaths, focusing his mind on what he wanted to do to Potter. He’d learned by trial and error that he had to concentrate, single out just one fantasy, or all he’d get was a dark page. It wasn’t easy – there were so many different scenarios all flitting through his head at once.
Potter, naked, spread-eagle, wrists and ankles bound to the corners of a bed…kneeling on a stone floor, wrists bound behind his back, mouth filled with a red ball-gag…hanging from the ceiling in chains, drops of blood trickling down his chest where nipple clamps had dug into his flesh…bent over Draco’s worktable, red welts decorating his arse…
That was the one he decided on. He’d already been thinking about it earlier in the day, during Potter’s inspection, so it should be the easiest one to expound upon. How should it start..?
He’d have Sandy bring him some tea, and to be polite, he’d offer some to Potter. He’d slip a muscle relaxant potion into Potter’s, and in a few minutes, Potter would be too weak to stand. He’d be fully conscious of everything that Draco was doing to him, though. Draco would lay Potter over his worktable, conjuring manacles around Potter’s wrists to secure him in place. One around Potter’s neck would be good too. Potter wouldn’t be able to move his upper body at all. Draco would reach around from behind, undo Potter’s trousers and pull them down around his ankles, exposing Potter’s smooth, round arse, his cock and balls dangling just below the edge of the table. He’d want to spread Potter’s legs apart and secure them too, so he’d have to get Potter’s trousers off of at least one leg. He ignored that little detail – it was just a fantasy, after all.
Draco held a riding crop in one hand, sliding the other over Potter’s arse. The skin felt smooth, cool under his touch. Without warning, Draco brought the crop down hard on Potter’s right arse cheek. Potter gasped, his entire body jerking. A long, red welt immediately blossomed. Draco struck again, and again, powerful blows, one after another, leaving Potter’s arse and thighs striped in raised, red lines. Potter was begging, crying, pleading with Draco to stop.
Draco had to think for a moment – would he rather hear Potter’s cries or muffle them with a gag? The image of a round, red ball stuffed into Potter’s mouth, drool running down his chin, dripping onto the table, won out.
Draco dropped the crop to the floor, positioned his cock at Potter’s hole, then slowly pushed his way inside. He loved how his cock looked, halfway in, Potter’s arse clenching and unclenching, trying to force it back out. Draco gripped Potter’s hips to hold him still, and in one swift move, pushed the rest of the way inside. Even with the gag in place, Draco could make out Potter’s cry of pain, could see Potter’s back break out in a cold sweat.
As he thrust in and out, in and out, Draco knew from his own experiences how much it burned to have a cock forced inside with little to no preparation. It was a heady feeling, knowing he was the one in control now, that he was the one to hurt and humiliate Potter for a change. With a shout, Draco stiffened, threw his head back and came, filling Potter’s arse with his come.
Draco pulled out and cast a cleaning charm on himself, but left Potter as he was. One of his favorite parts of the fantasy was watching as his come leaked from Potter’s hole and down his thighs. With his index finger, he wiped up some of the come, then walked around the worktable to face Potter. Draco removed the gag, grabbed Potter by the hair and pulled his head back, forcing him to look up into Draco’s face.
“Once an evil Death Eater, always an evil Death Eater, right, Potter? I’m so glad I could live up to your expectations – now suck this clean.”
Draco thrust his come-coated finger into Potter’s mouth. Potter didn’t even try to fight, merely used his tongue to lick and suck on Draco’s finger until it was completely clean...damn, Draco was getting hard again. He was going to have to stop the fantasy here or he was going to lose his focus and find himself lost in another scenario, ruining the photo.
He bent down and kissed Potter hard, forcing his tongue inside. Potter didn’t respond at first, then opened his mouth wide and kissed back, sucking and licking Draco’s tongue. When Draco finally broke the kiss, he looked at Potter and said, “If only this could be real. If only you could want me, as much as I want you.”
Draco took a deep breath, and opened his eyes. He raised his right hand, placed his wand to his temple, and pulled out the memory of the fantasy. Carefully, he guided the gossamer strands into the vial of developing potion, sealed it, then shook the vial several times until the potion and memory were blended together. He transformed his wand so that the tip held fine, hair-like bristles, like an artist’s paintbrush, then unstoppered the vial, dipped his wand into the potion, and ‘painted’ the blank sheet of paper in the photo album.
Then he waited.
It didn’t take long. Ghostly shapes appeared on the paper, darkening, filling in with colors. After a few moments, the colors became more solid, identifiable – a table, two teacups, and Potter. Potter picked up one of the teacups and took a sip…
Draco smiled as he watched the images move – another successful photo for his album. He settled back in bed, ready to enjoy his fantasy all over again.
“Master Harry Potter, sir. Mrs. Malfoy says she be here in a moment. You can wait in the drawing room if you like.”
“Thank you, but this isn’t a social call. We’ll wait here.”
“Very good, sir.”
With a crack, the house-elf Disapparated.
Harry, Auror Smethhurst and Auror Arbuckle stood in the large entrance hall of Malfoy Manor. Another anonymous owl had been sent yesterday, this time to Horatio Monkshood, a senior member of the Wizengamot, accusing Malfoy of hiding dark artifacts at the Manor. Kingsley was sympathetic, listening patiently as Harry complained about how they should investigate who it was that had a vendetta against Malfoy rather than continually wasting his time searching for illegal potions and artifacts that didn’t exist.
“I agree with you completely, Harry. I know Malfoy is working hard, staying on the right side of the law. This will be the last owl whose charges we will investigate. I want you to personally take a team to Malfoy Manor, search it from top to bottom. I’m sure it’s clean, but I want it documented. Take some dark magic detectors from the Department of Mysteries. Ask to search the place first. It will carry more weight if Mr. Malfoy agrees to the search rather than having it forced on him. Better yet, go when he’s at work – then he can’t be accused of hiding ‘dark artifacts’ from you.”
Kingsley emphasized ‘dark artifacts’ by making quote marks in the air with his fingers. “Mrs. Malfoy is still living at the Manor. I’m sure she’d be happy to let you search the place if you explain it will put an end to her son being persecuted.”
And that was how Harry ended up at Malfoy Manor. He thought back to the last time he’d been here, as a prisoner of Greyback and the Snatchers. That had been years ago, but he still felt his stomach lurch in apprehension as he looked around the large entrance hall. Both Smethhurst and Arbuckle did their best not to gawk, but he could tell they were impressed by the opulence of the place.
“Mr. Potter, it’s very good to see you.”
Harry turned towards the voice, just in time to see Mrs. Malfoy descend the last few stairs. She walked gracefully to him and held out her hand. If it had been a social visit, he would have kissed the back of it. Since he was here on official business, he shook it firmly instead.
“I’m sorry for the intrusion, Mrs. Malfoy. We’ve been receiving a steady stream of owls over the past eight months, accusing Draco of brewing illegal potions. I know it’s not true because I’ve been personally doing the required inspections of his shop and lab. I just did one last week, in fact, and as usual, there were no violations.
“We don’t know who is behind the owls, but yesterday one was received, accusing Draco of keeping dark artifacts here at the Manor. Minister Shacklebolt believes there is no substance to the accusation, but asked me to conduct a search and gather evidence that nothing is here. He plans on going to the Wizengamot and telling them that there will be no more searches of Draco’s business or home because of anonymous tips.”
“Of course, Mr. Potter. I understand. We’ve nothing to hide. I appreciate what you’re trying to do for my son, although I should warn you, he may not see it that way.”
Harry sighed. No matter what he did, he doubted Malfoy would ever look at him with anything other than contempt. “I know, Mrs. Malfoy, but I think everyone deserves a second chance. We were only seventeen, forced into a situation that wasn’t of our own making. He didn’t betray me to the Snatchers…” He looked at her quickly, and added, “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to help him because I feel I owe him for anything, even though I know I do. I…admire him for not giving up, for trying to make something of himself even though all the odds were against him. I’m not going to allow some anonymous accusations ruin all that he’s accomplished.”
“Draco is fortunate to have someone like you on his side.” Mrs. Malfoy smiled. “I know he gives you the impression that he dislikes you, but…well, I probably don’t have to tell you, but he’s a very proud person. All his life, other people have had power over him, controlled and manipulated him. It’s difficult for him to see you as an equal when you have power over him too, power to destroy his life with just one word.”
Harry started to protest, to say that he’d never do anything like that, but then kept quiet. He thought for a moment about what she’d said, then nodded. “I see your point. Thank you for telling me. Now, if you’d like, you can be present as we conduct the search. It will take longer that way, but if you have any concerns about planted evidence –”
“It’s all right, Mr. Potter. I trust you, and I’m sure your colleagues are also trustworthy, or you wouldn’t have brought them. I’ll be in the library. If you need anything, call for Misty. She’s the house-elf who greeted you when you arrived.”
Mrs. Malfoy turned to leave, then paused. “I have nothing against your colleagues, but if you don’t mind, I think it would be best if you were the one to search my son’s room. It’s on the first floor, third door on the left.”
There were three floors to the Manor, as well as the cellar. Arbuckle took the second floor, Smethhurst took the cellar and ground floor. Harry took the first floor since that’s where Malfoy’s room was located.
The dark magic detector he was using was a small glass sphere. It looked like it was filled with a white fog. If dark magic were nearby, the fog would change color, becoming a deep crimson red. The closer it got to the source of the dark magic, the more the air inside the sphere cleared. He searched the other rooms first, leaving Malfoy’s for last. As expected, no dark magic – no artifacts, no spells recently performed – was detected. The fog inside the sphere remained white.
The doors to all the rooms on the first floor had been open. Malfoy’s, however, was closed. Harry knew Malfoy was at his shop – he’d verified that before they’d arrived at the Manor – but he still felt he should knock. He tapped lightly once, then again – silence.
He turned the doorknob, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.
Malfoy’s room was nothing like he’d expected. Instead of Slytherin green and silver, the room was done in white and shades of yellow. Bright sunlight streamed in through large floor-to-ceiling windows, giving the room a cheerful feel. As much as he wanted to spend time looking around, he felt guilty for invading Malfoy’s privacy this way, even if he had Mrs. Malfoy’s permission to be here. He made his way quickly around the room, holding out the dark magic detector.
He almost dropped it as he neared Malfoy’s bed – the fog had changed color, from white to a pale, light pink.
Technically, it hadn’t indicated dark magic, so Malfoy was violating no laws. But it was an indication of magic which wasn’t quite ‘light’, either.
He held out the sphere, trying to locate the source of whatever had caused the color change. He moved his hand over the bed, but the sphere remained cloudy. He turned to the bed side table. There was a lamp and a book on it. As soon as he passed his hand over the book, the air in the sphere turned clear. When he moved his hand away, it turned cloudy again.
Just to be sure, Harry opened the drawer in the bed side table. There were some vials of potion, but Harry, always having been bad at anything to do with potions, had no idea what they could be. He moved the sphere over them, but it didn’t react.
So, it was the book.
Harry took a closer look at it. It was square, about eight-by-eight inches and looked as though it held a hundred or so pages. The cover was black leather with delicate gold scrollwork about an inch from the edges. It reminded him of the photo album that Hagrid had given him in his first year at Hogwarts.
Harry put the dark magic detector in his pocket and took out his wand, checking for any privacy or locking spells. There was a light privacy spell, the kind that said ‘don’t be nosey, keep out’. Harry knew he shouldn’t look – it really wasn’t dark, so was outside the scope of the search. But Harry had always had trouble curbing his curiosity about things he should just leave be. Peeking at Snape’s memories during his Occlumency lessons was a perfect example.
He sat down on the bed and picked the book up, opening it to the first page. He was surprised to see an old article from the Daily Prophet about Harry being promoted to Head Auror. Why in the world would Malfoy want to keep that? He turned the page. He could feel his face slightly flushing. It was the photo of him from the Witch Weekly calendar, the one where he’d posed naked except for the broom hiding his –
“What the fuck!” he exclaimed loudly, almost dropping the book.
This photo wasn’t the one from Witch Weekly. It couldn’t be, because in that photo, he’d never moved the broom out of the way, exposing his cock and balls. Malfoy must have done something to the original photo, but what?
He turned the page. This time he could feel the color draining from his face. “Oh my god…”
The photo was of Harry, standing naked, his arms and legs bound to the corners of a metal frame. He was spread wide, completely exposed and vulnerable. He was blindfolded and gagged, a black piece of wide leather covered his mouth, held in place by a strap which was buckled at the back of his head. A small metal tube, a few inches in length, trapped and compressed his cock and balls.
Malfoy walked into the photo, approaching Harry from behind. He wrapped his arms around Harry, pressing against his back, and began pinching Harry’s left nipple, hard. There was something in Malfoy’s hand…a clamp of some sort. He placed it on Harry’s nipple. It must have hurt because Harry jerked against his bonds. Malfoy held him tight until Harry stopped moving, then placed a clamp on Harry’s right nipple. This time, Harry’s body just shook a little, then his head dropped forward onto his chest.
Malfoy stepped back, but his hands continued to roam over Harry’s body. He squeezed Harry’s arse, touched his thighs, both inside and out, moved up Harry’s back, following the curve of his spine to his shoulder blades. He stepped under Harry’s upstretched arms, touching along the skin on Harry’s left side, his hand resting on Harry’s belly. With his fingers, he began to pull at the wiry strands of hair, working his way down. He threaded his fingers through the hair at Harry’s groin, grabbed a handful, and pulled, forcing Harry’s hips forward as far as they could go. Malfoy didn’t stop pulling. Harry’s head turned from side to side, his entire body struggling against his bonds. Harry did his best to try and thrust his hips out further, attempting to relieve the pressure. Harry – the one watching – could see the blindfold around bound-Harry’s eyes was becoming damp, no doubt with tears.
Malfoy finally let go. Harry’s body snapped back, his chest heaving. Watcher-Harry hadn’t noticed it before, but now Malfoy held a whip in his hand. It was black, with several strands of leather. With practiced ease, Malfoy brought it down over Harry’s stomach.
Harry twisted violently, trying to get away from the pain. Malfoy wielded the whip again, this time across Harry’s chest. Malfoy paused briefly, a smile crossing over his face.
The next strike fell on Harry’s shoulder blades, then one on his arse. Malfoy paid particular attention to the inside of Harry’s thighs, aiming so that the whip curled up between his legs and hit against the metal tube around his cock and balls. Harry continued to struggle, but was becoming weaker with each subsequent blow.
When Malfoy finally stopped, Harry hung limp, his body covered in red, angry welts. Malfoy threw the whip down and stepped behind Harry. He unzipped his trousers and took out his cock. Pulling Harry’s arse cheeks apart, Malfoy placed his cock against Harry’s hole. Holding on to Harry’s hips, he slowly pressed his cock inside. Harry’s head fell back onto Malfoy’s shoulder as Malfoy nipped and sucked at the side of Harry’s neck.
Malfoy’s movements were slow at first, but he gradually picked up speed, thrusting in and out, in and out, his fingers digging into Harry’s hipbones. Suddenly, Malfoy threw his head back, pumped his hips once, twice…a look of painful pleasure washed over Malfoy’s face as he came.
After a few moments, Malfoy pulled his cock from Harry’s arse, cast a cleaning charm and tucked his cock back inside his trousers. He unbuckled the gag and removed it from Harry’s mouth, then took the blindfold off. Harry blinked his eyes several times before focusing on Malfoy’s face. Malfoy placed his hand at the back of Harry’s neck, leaned in and tenderly kissed him. It looked like Harry resisted at first, then he kissed Malfoy back.
When Malfoy broke the kiss, he stared into Harry’s eyes and said something, then the image stopped moving, held frozen with Malfoy and Harry looking at each other. There was no sound associated with the photo, so watcher-Harry had no idea what Malfoy had said.
Harry sat on the bed, continuing to stare at the photo. He knew he should be horrified by what he’d just seen, but instead – his cock was hard, so hard it hurt. He undid the zip on his trousers, reached inside his pants and took hold of his cock. He squeezed tight, once, twice – he thought about the photo, what the pain must have felt like as Malfoy had whipped him, the sting of the leather against the tender inside of his thighs…
And he was coming, white strands of come pulsing wet and sticky onto his hand and filling his pants, his arsehole clenching around air, wishing Malfoy’s cock was inside him. It seemed like his orgasm would never end. He was afraid for a moment, as his vision grew dark along the edges, that he might pass out. He fought to keep hold of his senses, taking deep breaths, willing his heartbeat to slow down.
He cast a cleaning charm on his hand and pants, then zipped himself back up.
What the hell had just happened? He felt ashamed that watching what Malfoy had done to him in the photo had turned him on so much. He’d never participated in any sort of bondage sex, so he’d had no idea it would affect him so intensely.
Was it the bondage sex, or was it Malfoy? Or was it both?
The book had fallen onto the bed during Harry’s orgasm. He picked it up again, turning back to the photo. The image started moving, from the beginning, but Harry didn’t need to watch it again. He turned the page to the next photo. This one showed a naked Harry manacled to a stone wall. He turned the page – naked Harry, bent over on his stomach and tied to some sort of bench…
The entire book was filled with photos of Harry, usually naked, always bound, always beaten and fucked by Malfoy. As violent as they all appeared, each one culminated with a kiss, Malfoy saying something to Harry, right before the image stopped moving, freezing on Malfoy and Harry staring into each other’s eyes.
Harry couldn’t hear what Malfoy was saying at the end, but it looked like it was always the same thing. Harry knew a surveillance spell that would read Malfoy’s lips. He turned to a random photo, doing his best to not watch too closely as it played out – he didn’t want to have to wank again.
Right after the kiss, Harry cast the spell. It sounded like a whisper in his own ear: If only this could be real. If only you could want me, as much as I want you.
Harry chose another photo and at the end, after the kiss, cast the spell again – Malfoy said the same thing.
Harry closed the book and placed it back on the table. His first thought about the photos was that Malfoy must really hate him to exact that kind of revenge. But the kiss, and Malfoy’s words, didn’t support that idea.
Then he remembered what Mrs. Malfoy had said, about others always having power over Malfoy, and it all made sense. Malfoy’s photos weren’t about hate and revenge; they were about desire, about him wanting someone who, once again, held power over him. Tying Harry up, beating and abusing him, was Malfoy’s way of taking the power back. It was the only way he felt he could ever have Harry.
Harry checked the time. He’d been in Malfoy’s room for an hour and a half. Neither Smethhurst nor Arbuckle had signaled that they had finished, though. He needed to check on their progress.
Then he needed to pay Malfoy a visit.
Draco stopped cleaning the cauldron and looked up to see Sandy standing in the doorway between the shop and the lab.
“I thought you were leaving. What’s the matter?”
“Um, I was, but…” She glanced back over her shoulder, looking at something in the shop, then back to Draco. At that moment, Harry Potter walked up and stood behind her.
Draco’s eyes narrowed. “It’s all right, Sandy. You can go. Please lock the front door on your way out.”
She looked warily at Potter, but said politely, “Good night, then, Mr. Malfoy, Auror Potter.”
Draco finished cleaning the cauldron and placed it on the shelf before acknowledging Potter. “So what do you want now? You can’t be here to do another inspection so soon. You just did one last week.”
Potter stepped into the lab. He closed the door, locking and warding it behind him.
Draco reached for his wand and pointed it at Potter. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I won’t hesitate to hex you if you attack me, even if it means I’ll probably go to Azkaban.”
“I’m not here on official business, Malfoy. This is personal.”
Potter slowly walked closer, until the tip of Draco’s wand was touching his throat. He looked Draco in the eyes, and in a low, husky voice, said, “I know you want me, Malfoy. I know what you want to do to me. You want to strip me naked, bend me over your workbench, tie me down and fuck me until I plead for mercy. You want to hang me from the ceiling in chains and whip me until my body is covered in nothing but a mass of red welts. You want me on my knees, my hands bound behind my back, your cock shoved down my throat.”
Draco’s hand was shaking. He lowered his wand. “How do you know all that?” He was proud of himself for keeping his voice steady.
“There was an anonymous owl sent to the Wizengamot yesterday, accusing you of having dark artifacts at the Manor. We conducted a search today. Nothing illegal was found – but I did find your photos. I have to say – they were quite a shock.”
Draco clenched his jaw. He was sure he hadn’t broken any laws, but Potter would find a way to convict him of something.
“Are you going to arrest me, then? What do you plan to charge me with? Having erotic fantasies about The-Boy-Who-Lived? If you arrested everyone who fantasizes about fucking you, there wouldn’t be room in Azkaban for the real criminals.”
“I told you, I’m not here as an Auror – this is personal.”
Draco crossed his arms, lifting his chin defiantly. “Then what do you want?”
“I want to know…” Potter faltered a moment, looking unsure. He licked his lower lip and continued. “I want to know why you want to do those things to me?”
Draco stared back a moment, then laughed. It wasn’t a nice laugh. “You want to know why? Every damn month you come in here and rub it in my face that no matter what I do, you’ll always have power over me, you’ll always be the better man. You were like that at Hogwarts and you haven’t changed. So I have fantasies about what it would be like if I were the one with the power, if I were the one to hurt and humiliate you for a change.”
Draco stopped talking. He was breathing hard. He hadn’t been shouting, but his anger and resentment had been clear in his voice. He hadn’t shown such raw emotion in all the time after the war. It was stupid, talking like this to one of the most powerful wizards in the world, but it felt good to get it out. He wondered how long he’d get to enjoy the feeling before Potter hexed him into a million tiny bits.
“So – you don’t want to do those things because you hate me? You do them to show me you’re in charge, that you’re the one with the power?”
“Of course I hate you…” Draco trailed off, thinking about what Potter had just asked. So many times, he’d told himself he hated Potter: every time Potter came to the shop for an inspection; every time the Daily Prophet ran an article about a case Potter had solved; every time customers talked about what a good person Potter was, donating his time and money to this or that cause.
Every time he thought back to that fateful day on the Hogwarts Express, when Potter had refused to take his hand…
Draco exhaled slowly. No, he didn’t hate Potter. He wanted Potter, as a friend, as a lover. But Draco would never accept anything less than being an equal, and in real life, Potter was the one in charge.
“I don’t hate you, not really. I suppose you’re right about the control thing too. I don’t know. I just never bothered to take the time to work out all my feelings about you. What would be the point?”
“Well, for a start, maybe the real reason I come here every month isn’t to humiliate you – it’s so I can see you, talk to you. You don’t go out and socialize, so I can’t plan to accidentally run into you somewhere. Your shop is the only place I can get to see you. I never knew it bothered you, or I would have sent someone else.”
“Why in the world do you want to see me?” Draco asked, truly puzzled.
“I admire you, what you’ve done with your life after the war. I want to get to know you better, the man you’ve become. And –” Potter blushed, looked down at the floor, then back up at Draco. “– I think you’re an attractive man. I have a few fantasies of my own. They aren’t quite as – extreme – as yours, but…well, watching all your photos made me horny as hell. I want you to fuck me. And I’m more than willing to let you do some of those things to me, if you want.”
“Potter, I couldn’t do half that stuff to you in real life – it’d kill you if I did.”
“Then tone it down a bit. Don’t whip me so hard, or so many times. If you gag me, check that I’m not having trouble breathing. Prepare me so you don’t rip me apart when you fuck me. We can have a safe word, so if it gets too intense, I’ll have a way to tell you to stop.”
Draco felt as if he’d fallen into one of his own fantasies. This couldn’t be real: Harry Potter, in his lab, telling Draco he was willing to be tied up, whipped, and fucked.
“Pick a word,” Draco commanded.
Potter looked startled, but recovered quickly. “Quidditch.”
Draco smiled. “Quidditch it is. Now, strip. I’ve got a fantasy about bending you over and tying you to that workbench, then fucking you until you scream.”
Potter smiled back, and began to undo the top button on his shirt.